


Shimmering Neon through the Streets

by out_there



Category: Sports Night
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-16
Updated: 2005-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>No more writing scripts like it was their final show together.  No more wondering how long it would take Danny to say yes to LA.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Shimmering Neon through the Streets

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after the last episode. Thanks to [](http://laylee.livejournal.com/profile)[**laylee**](http://laylee.livejournal.com/) for betaing.

Casey was regretting his relationship with adrenaline. If you'd asked him an hour ago, he would have professed his undying love for it. Now he wasn't so sure.

And hour ago, he and Danny had just finished their possibly best show ever -- it was certainly in the top ten -- joyful and giddy at the unexpected rescue, at the Hail Mary Pass thrown their way by Quo Vadimus. It had been the solution to all their problems; like God tapping Casey on the shoulder and pointing out the Promised Land over the crest of a hill. No more writing scripts like it was their final show together. No more wondering how long it would take Danny to say yes to LA -- because he would, Casey knew he would; it would be insane not to -- no more temptation to ask Danny to stay. (He couldn't do that, couldn't ask Danny to sacrifice his career because Casey had a kid. Charlie wasn't Dan's responsibility, his obligation. It wasn't fair to push it onto him.)

Then they'd been saved, and adrenaline had kicked in, proclaiming them winners, blessed with the world at their feet. But after an hour of beers at Anthony's -- and, yes, a couple of Jagermeisters -- adrenaline had crowned Casey untouchable, invincible, master of all he surveyed, and was now leaning over his metaphorical shoulder, whispering distracting things about the brightness of Danny's eyes, the happiness in his smile. It was making Casey wonder if he could taste the glee on Dan's lips, if Dan's mouth would be sweet as victory.

That was when he suspected he'd had too much to drink. He didn't care. (Which was a sure sign that he had, that he should stand up and walk out of the over-packed bar, should go home before he did something stupid and regrettable, something that would make him die of embarrassment in the morning.)

Adrenaline and alcohol made a far more convincing argument: Casey felt great, and was allowed to watch Danny -- Danny and his long fingers, Danny and his easy laughter, his casual slouch -- if he wanted to. So he did.

And when he saw Dan sneaking out the back exit, he ignored the tinny voice of concerns -- when he was sober, it was deafening loud, saying, "This isn't a smart idea," and "It's safer, less tempting, if you stay in crowded areas," -- finished his drink, and followed Danny into the pleasant May night.

Tiny alley, lit by residual glows of neon, brick walls covered in bold graffiti, and leaning against the riot of color was Danny: dark hair, dark eyes, dark T-shirt; one sneaker-clad foot flat against the wall, one denim-covered leg pointed at Casey like an arrow. He looked stark and unreal, like a picture taken with too much contrast, like a dream so vivid you could feel it snaking across your skin.

"I'm a little drunk," Casey said. It seemed like the perfect introduction. "You should be celebrating with us."

"I'm taking a moment to celebrate on my own." Danny's expression sliced into a smile, a sweet stretch of lips over wet teeth, proving Casey wasn't the only one intoxicated by sudden saviors and familiar booze.

Casey stepped closer, wondering if he could smell the alcohol on Dan. Danny should smell brilliant and unworldly, like an overcast winter's day: all silvered light and the tingling promise of rain.

When Dan's pointed knee nudged his, Casey stopped moving closer. "I'm a little drunk."

"I can tell."

Casey smiled. It seemed like the thing to do. "How?"

"By the unsteady way you walk," Danny said, looking down at Casey's feet, at Casey's well-shined leather shoes. Behind the curtain of dark eyelashes, there was an amused twinkle hiding in Danny's eyes. "And by the way you keep watching me."

"Oh," Casey said, charmed and too drunk to deny it. "I like looking at you."

"It's not something you only do when you're drunk." Danny leaned closer. Casey could feel the feathering tickle of Dan's hair brushing his forehead, could smell the beer on Dan's parted lips, his warm breath intimate against Casey's mouth as he spoke. "You do it when you're sober too. You don't know that I see you, but I do. You watch me and you look--" Dan paused, closing his eyes as if he knew the expression so well he could picture it. "Hungry and wistful, like you're yearning for something out of reach. Then you turn away and look so angry, like you're mad at yourself for wanting at all."

For a moment, Casey stood still, breathing the air that Danny exhaled. He knew the moments Dan was talking about, all those times he should have been working, not staring at Dan and daydreaming. He let his eyelids drift shut and rested one hand against the dusty bricks.

"I like looking at you," Casey said, and somehow his hand found its way to Danny's hip, warm and solid under old, worn jeans. "I like thinking about you."

"Yeah?"

"I think--" A door slammed shut behind them. There was a snatch of some mellow love song, playing softly, fading under the sound of Dan's slow breathing. Casey wet his lips and his heart thumped nervously. (Adrenaline, again.) "I think about stripping you bare, seeing behind those quick smiles. About how you'd look stretched out in bed, open and naked."

Danny dragged in a halting, shuddering gasp, but he stayed right there, leaning against the wall. His hands found their way to the small of Casey's back, resting there, waiting.

In the voluntary darkness, in the crush of shared warmth, Casey felt bold. "I think about touching you, tracing the shadows from your skin. Kissing you until those shadows leave your eyes. I want to know which spots would make you laugh," Casey said, sliding his hand under Danny's T-shirt and up until he skimmed the smooth skin above Danny's waistband, "where you don't like being touched. I want to kiss you slowly, like it's something completely new. And I want to kiss you fast and messy, prove how long, how desperately, I've been waiting for the chance."

In that moment, he didn't just want it, he needed it. Needed the physical thrill of stepping closer, pressing the length of his body against Dan's, sliding his thumb under denim and rubbing circles over the bone of Dan's hip.

But more than that, he needed to know that he wasn't the only one overcome and craving. "Danny?"

That was all he got out before Dan answered him by kissing him, dropping a precious, chaste kiss against the corner of Casey's mouth. "Yes, Casey."

He opened his eyes to find Danny smiling, neon glimmering across his cheek and jaw. Casey lifted his hand and traced the haze of color along Danny's lips. "Yeah?"

Danny nodded. "Yeah," Dan said, and kissed him again: slow, deep and not at all chaste. Danny's mouth tasted a lot sweeter than victory.  



End file.
